


no one in the world ever gets what they want (and that is beautiful)

by CurlyAndQuote



Category: Ghost Quartet - Malloy
Genre: F/F, Implied Amnesiac Soldier, Implied Autistic Soldier (a little?), Nobody Dies, TW: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, angst with a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlyAndQuote/pseuds/CurlyAndQuote
Summary: The blood-red lights, gleaming from the ceiling like twin moons, illuminated her face, her body, her plaid skirt. Everything about her seemed to glow with life and love and feeling, so much feeling and emotion in the way she held her head, the wistful look on her face, how she swayed slightly to the music. She was so alive.





	no one in the world ever gets what they want (and that is beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Don't Let's Start" by They Might Be Giants.

The most beautiful woman the Soldier had ever seen was standing alone at a table by the dance floor, holding but not drinking a cup of what was doubtlessly some kind of alcohol.

The blood-red lights, gleaming from the ceiling like twin moons, illuminated her face, her body, her plaid skirt. Everything about her seemed to glow with life and love and feeling, so much feeling and emotion in the way she held her head, the wistful look on her face, how she swayed slightly to the music. She was so alive.

The Soldier had fought in wars, had seen death, had come within millimeters of death. She had jumped from planes, felt the blood of her friends splatter upon her, risked eternal nothingness both unintentionally and purposefully. 

She knew how the ground shook when a bomb went off several feet away.

It was nothing compared to how the ground was shaking now, shaking with the bass and the movement of hundreds of other foolhardy souls, hundreds of other hearts beating.

She was so brave.

She was brave enough to walk over to the beautiful, glowing woman.

“Hello,” she said, wishing she were wearing a necklace so she could chew on it. Soldiers didn't wear necklaces, let alone chew on them. She wished she wasn't a soldier.

“Hello,” replied the woman. No question in her voice, no ‘why are you talking to me?’ Just a simple “hello.”

“Would you like to dance?” She winced at her delivery of the question. She hadn't exactly had a childhood, but she knew that she sounded like a seventh-grader at a Valentine’s Day dance. She waited for the rejection.

“Do you believe in love?” the woman asked her, in lieu of just turning her down.

“I'm a soldier,” she answered wistfully. “I don't believe in anything.” She turned to walk away.

“No, wait, where are you going? This is my favorite song!”

“There's nothing playing right now.”

“Exactly.” The woman grabbed the Soldier’s hands in hers, so gently that she thought her heart might burst right there and then. She dragged her onto the dance floor. “I'm Rose.”

The Soldier couldn't bring herself to say, “I don't remember my name anymore.” She knew that some things were better left unsaid.

“I'm a soldier.”

Rose laughed, not mockingly, but in the way one might laugh when they solved a difficult problem, or reached the end of a long journey, or understood what life was finally. “Dance with me.”

Neither of them knew how to dance. That was clear from the start. But they moved in sync, smoothly, and the Soldier felt an emotion she hadn't felt for longer than she could remember. 

When Rose put her hand on the small of her back, it was too much. She burst into tears.

She had never cried before. Or at least, so she thought. It was a strange new feeling.

Rose supported her body as she started to sob, silently. She moved them both off the dance floor, and over to a table. “Hey, shh, it’s all right,” Rose whispered, her voice like a cool spring running through the mountains. 

She shook her head. She didn't believe in “all right.” Nothing had ever been all right.

“I have to go soon,” she whispered, the tears slowing. She didn't believe in love.

“Oh,” Rose said, sounding slightly dejected. “All right. I understand.” She believed in so much. “Could I at least- could I get your number?”

“I don't have a phone-” she started, then reconsidered. Why make this poor girl, this mortal goddess, hurt? “I mean, I don't have my phone with me. And I don't remember my number. But I could take yours?”

Rose beamed. Her smile was the moon, her eyes the stars. “Of course.” She reached into her purse, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She scribbled her number on it in green ink. “Here.” She folded it in half and handed it to the Soldier.

“Thank you. For- for everything.”

“Call me, okay?” And Rose winked at her, and everything went fuzzy around the edges, and the lights became dimmer and the music quieter. 

She didn't believe in love.

“Yes,” the soldier said. “Bye.” 

“Wait.” Rose reached up and wiped the Soldier’s face dry of tears. “All right. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” And the Soldier walked out of the club. Back to her home. Back to change out of her dress, and to stare at her gun, and think about how there was nothing left, and reach for it, and then realize, every night, that she wasn't brave enough, and pull back her hand, ashamed of her lack of bravery. Back to sleep that wouldn't come and memories that danced on the edge of reality but that she could never remember in the morning.

She took the folded piece of paper from her pocket, looked at it, pretended it was a valuable secret and she was back on the battlefield, captured by the enemy.

She put it on her tongue, chewed it, and swallowed it.

It didn't taste like despair, or a broken promise, or even like red lipstick or a stolen glance or a sip of whiskey.

It didn't taste like anything.


End file.
